


As We Grow

by Weeping_Writer



Series: Bert & Bea [1]
Category: A Series of Unfortunate Events (TV), A Series of Unfortunate Events - Lemony Snicket
Genre: Baby Violet, Bertrand is Violet's Father, Childhood Friends, Dating, F/M, Falling In Love, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Kinda?, Marriage, Marriage Proposal, Moving On, Murder, Olaf and Esmé are horrible, Olaf is a jerk, Pregnancy, Romance, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn, Sweetie pie Bertrand, mentions of depression, slight mentions of violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-26
Updated: 2019-02-22
Packaged: 2019-05-13 21:43:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14756843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Weeping_Writer/pseuds/Weeping_Writer
Summary: On the night Beatrice and Bertrand are delivering their first child, Bertrand can't help but reminisce about when he met his now loving wife, and how their relationship developed.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hello. This is my first fanfic. I hope you all enjoy. My Tumblr is knight-of-vfd.tumblr.com  
> if u guys are interested

Bertrand Baudelaire stared longingly at the clock that was on the hospital waiting room wall. It had been an hour since his wife, Beatrice, was rushed off in order to deliver their child. Their  _first_ child to be exact. Bouncing his leg up and down in anxiousness, Bertrand glanced around the tasteless room that contained a sickening yellow wallpaper. Around the small and cramped room there were an array of chairs where one other man sat, reading the newspaper as if nothing new was happening. Another day of normality. Bertrand sighed. This  _wasn't_ a day of normality for him.

"First kid?" a voice called out shaking Bertrand out of his thoughts. It was the other man. He had place down his paper and was staring at Bertrand with a slight shine of curiosity.

"Y-yes." Bertrand murmured quietly, failing to hide the squeak of anxiety from his usual baritone of a voice. The man gave him a comforting smile and a chuckle that rang with a sense of knowing.

"Ah, I've been there before. I practically made a pathway on the carpet from pacing like a wreck." Here the man chuckled at his own joke. "Hey, but by now I'm used to it."

"Is...Is this your second?" Bertrand asked hesitantly, feeling a small sense of shame for being nosy.

" _Fifth._ "

" _Oh."_ Bertrand's eyes widened at revelation. But before he could pursue any other questions or comments, a nurse came through the doors.

"Mr. Fitzgerald? Your wife and little boy are ready to see you."

"Ah righty-o." The man, or Mr. Fitzgerald turned and gave a comforting smile at Bertrand as he stood up and made his way to the door. "Good luck and congratulations in advance old sport."

"Thank you...and to you as well."

He was alone. Alone with the feeling of queasiness and the grating sound of the clock's constant ticking. Bertrand sighed. 'How did I get here?' he pondered. 'No that wasn't the right question. How did _Beatrice_ and _I_ get here? ' It had never occurred to him that it wasn't just any woman in one of the delivery rooms, it was  _Beatrice_. _Beatrice_ , one of the fiercest volunteers VFD ever had. _Beatrice,_ the woman who had changed so much over the years.  _Beatrice_ , the person who he had once saw only as a friend and vice versa. _Beatrice,_ the woman who he now loved and who loved him just as much back. It was truly amazing on how much they've grown together....

 

 


	2. Innocence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Young Bertrand meets an interesting little girl.

He didn't understand what was going on. Eight-year-old Bertrand Baudelaire was standing somewhat awkwardly in the living room of Mr. and Mrs. Anwhistle, who were by the front door talking to the volunteer that had taken the young boy from his blazing home. Bertrand couldn't help but listen in on their conversation.

"His chaperone should come by to take him within a week."

"I see. And who exactly is she?" enquired Mrs. Violet Anwhistle.

"S." came the simple reply.

" _Markson_? Really Y?" Came Eugene Anwhistle's response. "Isn't she a tad....well... _harsh_?"

A sigh of exasperation could be heard from the doorway.

"E, things are getting _really_ bad out there. It's getting more difficult each day to find any chaperone in the organization. Besides, she'll mold the boy into a fine volunteer."

"Well...."

Bertrand, at this point, had heard enough. He didn't want to go with any harsh 'S. Markson.' He wanted to go back home with his mother and spend the afternoons reciting poems, and working in their greenhouse. Despite his desires, Bertrand knew his home and mother were gone. His heart clenched with pain and his head swirled with so many questions. He was scared, sad, and confused. Why was he being sent to this stranger who didn't even _sound_ nice? Why wasn't he sent to his older brother, Elwyn? What did they mean by " a fine volunteer?" 'I don't understand.' the young Baudelaire thought. He sighed and began to pull out the book _'The Poems of John Godfrey Saxe,'_ out of his bag, and began to read, trying to tune out the conversation that was still taking place. Unfortunately, the young boy didn't get too far into his book as he was interrupted by a young voice,

"Hi what's your name?"

Bertrand looked up and noticed a girl, about two years younger than him stare at him with wide bright eyes. She had dark brown hair and dark brown colored eyes unlike his black hair and light brown eyes. She was wearing a lavender dress with ruffles that came up to her knees. She was giving him a big smile. Bertrand, despite the complex feelings, couldn't help but smile back.

"I'm Bertrand Oxford Baudelaire. And you are?" He said politely.

"Beatrice Annalise Anwhisltle." She replied, making sure she pronounced her middle name correctly.

Bertrand's smile grew as he placed his book down and gave the girl a gentle handshake.

"It's certainly nice to meet you Miss Anwhislte." Bertrand said. Beatrice giggled and held on to his hand. Before he knew it, the young Baudelaire found himself being dragged down a hallway and into a room. It was Beatrice's room. The room was painted a lovely shade of lime green, with a small bed that had a small array of stuffed animals. Beatrice then pointed to a small dollhouse that contained a few wooden dolls.

"Play with me." It wasn't a request. Bertrand stood there, not sure on what he should do. Beatrice sat down near the dollhouse and patted the ground across from her.

"Sit here."

Bertrand did as he was told. Beatrice grabbed a small doll.

"Get a doll."

Bertrand got a small doll. 

"Now play with me."

"O-okay?" Bertrand didn't know what to do. He never really played with toys before. Sure the young boy had a small stuffed elephant, which he would occasionally move the limbs around, but he never played with little dolls like these. As if sensing Bertrand's confusion, Beatrice wiggled the doll she was holding and said, in a silly voice,

"Why _hello_ Mrs. Googles how do you do?"

Bertrand wiggled the doll in his hand awkwardly, and with a shy smile replied,

"Hi."

The two would ended up playing for a few minutes. It was fun, asided from Beatrice making the occasional demand as to what Bertrand would say as "Mrs. Googles," what he would do, and the story went towards a silly direction as to where "Mrs. Googles" had purchased a cake that was worth a million dollars. Bertrand found himself chuckling at the silliness. Beatrice Anwhistle was bossy, but her silliness and kindness made up for it.

"You're a funny little girl aren't you?"

Beatrice looked up and tilted her head in confusion, the question obviously catching her off guard.

"What do you mean?"

"This game is _quite_ amusing."

"Is...that bad?" She sounded almost scared.Bertrand shook his head.

"Not at all! It's very whimsical. Almost like John Godfrey Saxe's elephant poem."

"Oh." The young girl's lips pursued, then gave the boy smile.

"So what do you like to do?"

"What do you mean?"

"Like do you like to draw or sing or anything?"

"Oh! I'm a botanist."

"What's _that_?"

"It's a scientist that studies or experiments with plants." Bertrand couldn't help but beam with some small self pride. He would love to spend his days in his mother's greenhouse, tending the red roses, watering the bromeliads, and observing the different types of mosses. His mother would occasionally come in with freshly made lemonade and the two would talk for the rest of the day. Bertrand's eyes began to water as he remembered the last day he spent there. He was watering a growing palm tree when he heard the sound of breaking glass, his mother crying out to him, the smell of smoke. The next thing he knew, he was being dragged into a car and watching his manor burn to ash as the car drove away.

"Are you ok?" The young girl's voice snapped him back to reality. Beatrice was looking at him worried. The boy shook his head, wiping his tears away. 

"I...I don't know."

"Well do you want to know what I want to be?"

"W-what?"

"I want to be a actress and a animal trainer."

"Really?" The little girl's nodded enthusiastically.

"Yeah! Especially bats."

Bertrand found himself laughing incredulously.

" _What_!?"

"Yeah! A _baticeer_ like daddy said!" She said a-matter-of-factly. Bertrand soon began to laugh. Beatrice frowned, clearly not seeing any humor in it.

"What's so funny?" 

Bertrand's giggles ceased.

"You really _are_ a funny girl."

"So are we friends?"

"Yeah," he said smiling. "We're friends." 


	3. Enlightenment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bertrand and Beatrice catch up with each other, both the good and the bad.

"So Bertie, you've clearly grown."

"You have as well Bea."

The teenager and the pre-teenager walked along the sands of Briny Beach, listening to waves of the ocean, the stars and dock lights being their only source of light. 

"How's being a botanist coming along?"

Bertrand grinned.

"Good, I'm attempting to see if I could make a tomato cross with a  beet. I've also taken a interest in mechanical devices."

"That's interesting."

"How's the baticneer and acting business coming along?"

"Well, I've stared in a few plays and my bat, Gatsby, is doing well. He's very sweet and very obedient, the little dear."

Bertrand chuckled.

" _Really_? _Gatsby_?"

Beatrice huffed.

"What? I like F. Scott Fitzgerald's works, thank you very much."

"I'm sorry. I just find it...hilarious that you named a bat after a fictional character."

The twelve-year-old glared at him, her dark brown eyes shinning with humor. 

"You won't be laughing once you see what he can do, Bertie."

"Alright." Bertrand smiled. "I'll stop."

They were quiet for a few moments, until Bertrand noticed Beatrice staring at him.

"What's wrong, Bea? Is there something on my face?"

"Why Bertie, are you growing whiskers?"

Bertrand let out a small laugh.

" _What_?"

Beatrice pointed at his chin.

"You're chin. It has a few tiny hairs."

"It does? I really haven't noticed."

He hadn't. Bertrand's hand absentmindedly went up to his chin. To his slight surprise, he felt stubble. It was very small, yet noticeable. It had been sometime since he had looked in a mirror let alone _consider_ shaving. His ended apprenticeship with S. Theodora Markson had left him busy. He spent constant hours and days running, doing what he was told retrieve or send, and avoiding the fire-starters from the ever growing schism. 

"You're hair is a tad longer too." Beatrice said smiling, as she stood on her tip toes to ruffle the boy's hair. "You _do_ know," she added, playfully, "Olaf calling you a 'sheep dog' will only intensify."

"I know," Bertrand chuckled, his light brown eyes shinning, "The joke's on him. I really don't care what he says."

"I don't either. He's just trying to obtain attention."

"Well, he _is_ a child of theater."

At his remark, Beatrice looked up at him, her eyebrows rising in amusement.

"And what is _that_ , supposed to mean _Bertrand Baudelaire_?"

Bertrand's eyes widened.

"N-nothing!"

" _Really_ now? Because I just so happen to be a ' _child of theate_ r.'

"I-I'm sorry Bea. I didn't..."

Bertrand found himself sweating. He hadn't meant anything horrible. Laughing, Beatrice playfully slapped his shoulder.

"Oh Bertie, I'm just teasing you."

Bertrand felt himself relax.

"Ah, I see you're still that funny little girl."

Beatrice continued to laugh as Bertrand gave her a mischievous smirk. 'So that's how she wants to play.' he thought.

"And _who_ exactly, is this Lemony boy I've heard so much about, _Miss Beatrice Anwhislte_?"

 The younger child's laughter stopped, and she turned to Bertrand with a flushed face.

"N-no one! J-j-just a good friend of mine!"

"A _really_ good friend it seems."

Another slap on his shoulder.

" _Bertrand_!"

The two broke out in laughter and continued walking along the shore. They were soon surrounded by a amused silence. It felt like ages since the two had time to themselves. Aside from the occasional letters, telegrams, phone calls, and the very rare volunteer gatherings, the two hadn't had the chance to really talk and connect like they once did. The days they spent playing, when they were young children, seemed so distant now. 

"Have you heard?" Beatrice said, very quietly.

Bertrand turned to look at her, slightly scared.

"What?"

"Olaf's parents might join the fire-starters."

Dreaded silence. 

"You know....what might need to be done."

Bertrand felt himself grow sick, his head swirling. Why would it result to that? It doesn't have to. He would most certainly not take part in it....and neither would Beatrice. Not if he could help it.

"It doesn't have to result to that-" his voice cracked.

"Bertrand, you don't realize what kind of _power_ they have. They can and _will_ set this entire city on fire."

"But...but can't we just _reason_ with them!?" 

"Bertrand-"

"L-like you said, t-they _might_ join! M-maybe we could...convince them not to!"

" _Bertrand_ -"

" _Why_ does it have to result to that!?"

"Bertie. I know you _don't_ like the...the _idea_ of it, I don't either, but-"

"It's 'for the greater good' I know."

Bertrand couldn't help but state the fire-fighting side's excuses bitterly. They say their noble, but they do so many horrible things it _really_ makes him wonder.

"What about Olaf?"

Beatrice stared at him, confused.

"Olaf, rude as he is, is still a _child_ Beatrice."

Silence.

"He's a child...just like _us_."

"I know."

More silence. Beatrice turned towards one of her best friends, and hugged him. Bertrand returned the hug, gently rubbing her back with comfort.

 "I wish we can go back to when we were children. When everything was so... _carefree_. When we didn't have to consider things that made us question our nobility."

"I do too Bea."

"We're too young to think things like this. Aren't we?"

"We..we are."

"Times are changing Bertie."

"They are."

"And...and I'm scared that they are changing for the _dire_."

"I am too."

 


	4. Shattered pt. 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two years after their reunion, Beatrice and Bertrand do something bad. Really bad.

Bertrand was bouncing his leg with great anxiety. He wished the intermission to this odious opera would start. He glanced at Beatrice, who was sitting poised and proper next to him in a lovely black dress which was beneath a lovely red shawl that had long feathers along the edges. She looked on at the play, nodding at the performers. 'How the heck is she so _calm_?' the sixteen-year-old thought to himself. Didn't she understand why she was here? Why they are _both_ here? What happens tonight will change everything and possibly not for the better. Sure their side will strengthen and have the upper hand of this war caused by the schism, but at what cost?

"B, it's _time_." The fourteen-year-old's voice and gentle nudging, snapped the boy out of his thoughts. He turned towards his friend, who staring at him. Her face was deadpanned, but Bertrand could see in the stress and fear in her eyes. The intermission had begun.

Rising to his feet, Bertrand followed Beatrice to a small, semi-crowded, snack bar around the entrance of the lobby. A great number of people where walking around, talking, laughing, taking care of personal matters. 'No one has a single clue on what's going to happen tonight.' the young Baudelaire thought, grimly.

"Bertie here," Beatrice whispered, as she handed him some money. "Buy yourself something and try to relax, you look close to death. Besides, I see K."

Bertrand tried to refuse, but Beatrice insisted. As he took the money, Beatrice gave him a sad, comforting smile and walked into a small crowd of people. Bertrand turned his attention to a snack bar operator, who was smiling at him.

"Hello there young man, what can I help you with?" He asked kindly. Bertrand gave the man a feeble smile and with a shaky hand, gave the man the small amount of money.

"One sm-smallh-hot chocolate p-p-please." He can't even talk. His nerves are were the way. The man chuckled as he rang the money up in a cash register.

" _Relax_ son, I'm not going to bite your head off." Bertrand attempted to feign a laugh, but his dry throat wouldn't let him. The man soon handed him his drink and Bertrand was left there waiting for Beatrice, who still hadn't returned.

"You ok son?"

"Huh?"

"You've been shaking a little bit, is everything alright?" The operator's face was filled with concern. Bertrand nodded, gave the adult a weak smile, and began to drink his hot chocolate. Everything was _not_ alright. Everything felt all wrong. He was going to commit a horrendous crime. A crime would that would destroy so many lives. 

"You nervous 'bout your girlfriend?" At that comment, Bertrand nearly spat out his drink.

_"What!?"_

"The girl you were just with. You nervous on what she might think of you? Is this your first date? Believe me my boy, I know exactly how you feel."

Bertrand stared at the man, all of his previous feelings replaced with shock and embarrassment.

"S-she's _not_ my girlfriend." He stuttered. His face turning red at the mere thought of it.

The man's eyebrows rose in surprise.

"She's _not_?"

"No. We're just two best friends who just so happened to spot each other while attending _La Fronza del Destino_."

"Oh, I thought.....it's just you two looked _so_ close....."

"She's currently in a relationship with another boy. We're _just_ friends." Bertrand grumbled, as the very idea of Beatrice and himself dating was just....just _weird_ to him.

"Oh, my apologies son." With that, the man awkwardly turned his attention to his coworkers and began to help serve the other guests.

Bertrand just nodded, grateful that conversation was dropped. However, the uncomfortable silence that followed, and the returning dread, was nearly tortuous, until Beatrice, thankfully, arrived.

"Bertie I got them, let's go."

With a quick sip of his drink, Bertrand followed his friend away from the crowds and lobby to a small private corner.

"Goodness Bea, what took you so long?"

"K had to run from E. She was after her and thankfully K lost her momentarily in a crowd. "

" _E_ was _here_? I thought no one else knew of this." It took everything in the sixteen-year-old to not scream. Everything was going so well. Lemony was scouting the perimeter, making sure everything was in order.Jacques was waiting outside, ready to retrieve the young volunteers and take them back home when the deed was done. It was a plan the five volunteers had discussed and strategized amongst only themselves. They were careful. Made sure to close and locked the doors behind them when they met. Discussed the details only with each other. Beatrice, Lemony, Jacques, Kit, and himself would never tell anyone about this. No one could know about what was about to transpire on this night, but somehow...

Beatrice sighed.

"Somehow she found out about it. I'm positive E only knows about K's involvement and the bare details." Beatrice then began to look around. "K barely had enough time to hand me them to me."

Bertrand nodded. His light brown eyes staring at what Beatrice was hiding behind her back.

"Is that the...?"The younger child nodded her head grimly in response. She then revealed a small, fancy wooden box. The box was small, the size of a reasonable sized jewelry box. The wood was smooth, and the edges were encrusted with a gold colored metal. She lifted the lid where two very small black-striped darts laid of a soft velvet fabric....right beside two miniature guns. This was it. It was time. There was _no_ turning back. _No_ forgiveness. 

"Bea, this...this isn't right. We both know this"

"I know Bertie, but..." Beatrice's voice trailed off, as she turned her head away from her friend. Bertrand placed a hand on her shoulder.

"But?"

The younger teen turned back to him, and Bertrand could see the sadness in her dark-brown eyes.

"What _else_  can we do?"

Bertrand was silent.

"If-if you don't want to Bertie,...I'll do it."

Bertrand remained silent.

"It'll be _my_ burden to bear...j-just hold on to the gun for me. I can't hold them both. Ok?"

Bertrand just stared at her.

The two shared a long uncomfortable silence. Without another word, the two young volunteers grabbed the small guns and inserted the darts. Bertrand placed a gun in his pocket while Beatrice hid the other amongst her red shawl. The two made their way back to their seats. The second act had begun with a roaring opening number. The two friends stared at the three figures a few rows across from them. It was a clear shot. A man, a woman, and their son, who had his father's one eyebrow and his mother's shinny eyes. Beatrice turned to her friend.

"Okay B, hand me the-" She whispered. She didn't even finish her sentence when...

 

 _Pop_.

 

The man, across from the two volunteers, suddenly fell forward on his seat, completely lifeless. His wife stood up and screamed. Their son, shaking his father, begging him to get up. His mother's screaming continued. Many people from the audience began to panic as they began to realize what had transpired. 

Bertrand Oxford Baudelaire, sixteen-years-old, eyes wide, and hand shaking as he gripped the gun, had fired the first shot.

 

_Pop._

 

The woman's screaming ended as her son's began.

 

Beatrice Annalise Anwhistle, fourteen-years-old, had fired the second and final shot.


	5. Shattered pt. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After grieving the "death" of his friend, twenty-five year-old Bertrand makes a choice that will change his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: slight mentions of suicide.

**Lemony Snicket: Drama Critic, Murderer, and Arsonist, Dead!**

 

 

It’s been a month and Bertrand _still_ couldn’t shake the morning headlines from his memory. He couldn’t believe it, he just couldn’t believe it. Lemony Snicket, his good friend, was dead. There were days were the twenty-five year old would just anticipate the call from Lemony, revealing that he’s still alive and that he was in desperate needed help. It had to be a sick joke, it just _had_ to be. All those wonderful years…now just memories. He remembered when he first met the man.

They were both about about young teens, himself about fourteen, and Lemony thirteen. Lemony had been…tense with meeting _‘the saint’_ Bertrand Baudelaire, especially since seemingly everyone had talked him up so much. But in time, the two had gotten close. They would spend a lot of time talking, about themselves, Beatrice, and about the missions they had completed for VFD. Bertrand was practically in awe with Lemony’s work at Stain’d-by-the-Sea, and Lemony had to admit that he found Bertrand’s transmissions and botanical work very fascinating. There were times where both Lemony and Beatrice even invited Bertrand to go with them to movies or to plays. Even when the three of them had grown up, and were miles apart, they were close with letters and rare phone calls. Bertrand had even recently received a invitation to Lemony and Beatrice’s wedding!

 

But now, Lemony was gone, and gone for good. Not mention poor Beatrice…

 

 _Beatrice!_ His poor dear friend! She had just lost the man she deeply loved, not to mention they were so close to being married, even all the hurdles that came across their path. Beatrice’s busy schedule, Esmé’s maddening schemes to destroy her, Lemony being framed for murder and soon arson, and even the constant moving. All of that love, support, and hard work down the drain. Bertrand had an idea with what his friend was going through. The pain the loss, he’s been there. Bertrand had once dated a wonderful volunteer named Avery. They seemed so happy together. He was even considering proposing, only to receive a Dear John letter informing him that Avery and another volunteer had run off together, leaving him heartbroken and alone. Bertrand was _so_ sure he would die in despair. He truly knew the pain Beatrice was going through…..suddenly Bertrand thought of Beatrice, all alone…devastated and her mind not in in the right place…

 

“Im not sure this is a good idea, Bertrand.” Montgomery Montgomery said as Bertrand packed up his clothes into a suit case.

He was going to visit Beatrice, who was currently staying with R in Winnipeg. Thankfully Bertrand had inherited his father’s fortune and with that, had planned to take the long six o’clock train to Winnipeg and see her, talk to her, let her know she wasn’t alone. Monty had wanted to go, but he was needed to participate for an upcoming expedition with his fellow herpetologists. It was one he really couldn’t miss.

 

“What makes you think that, old friend?”

 

Monty shifted his weight akwardly on his roommate’s bed.

 

“Won’t it look… _odd_ for a close _male_ friend of Beatrice’s visiting her?”

 

Bertrand sighed as he tried to close the suitcase. He then gave his friend a curious look. What on earth was Monty talking about?

 

“How would it be odd?”

 

Monty made his way over and helped his roommate close his suitcase. With a nodsignaling as a “Thank You.” The two made their way over towards their small apartment’s front door.

 

“Well people might be assume you and her might… _well_ …” Monty’s voice trailed off, as his face turned red, and he scratched the back of his ginger-haired head. “Considering the fact that her fiancé….”

 

“My intentions are _far_ from romantic I assure you.” Bertrand interrupted sternly, “Beatrice needs her friends more than ever.”

 

“But-“

 

Bertrand placed his hand on Monty’s shoulder and Monty could see the tears forming in his friend’s eyes.

 

“Monty please, I’ve already lost so many people I care about.” Bertrand said, his voice rose and was shaking. “My mother, my friends, someone I once deeply….deeply cared about, and _I can’t loose her too_.”

 

Monty could tell Bertrand meant every word. The world was negatively changing, and Bertrand couldn't help but notice how the meeting rooms have gotten more and more emptier. Associates and friends he would see regularly, would disappear without a trace and thinking about Beatrice doing _anything_ that could hurt herself, or worse….Bertrand shook his head, shaking the morbid thoughts out of his head. The thought of another lost friend, was _too much_ for the young man to bear.

 

“I’ve made up my mind Monty; I’m going to see her and that’s _that_.” He said firmly. The two hesitated, knowing that after this departure, it would most likely be _ages_ until they see each other again.

 

“I’ll see you soon.” He whispered.

 

“Same here,” Monty replied, “Believe me, I would come too, but-“

 

“I know, you have to go,” Bertrand said, with a small smile. “Be careful out there, Monty.”

 

“You too Bert.” Monty whispered. “Please tell Bea, I said hi.”

 

“I will.”

 

Bertrand gave his friend another hug, picked up his suitcase, and made his way to the waiting taxi. He hesitated before he went inside. The young man looked up at his friend, who was standing by the front doorway. Monty gave him a small wave, which Bertrand returned. With that, the Baudelaire entered the taxi and made his way to the train station. Bertrand couldn’t help but wonder how the future will turn out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Im alive and I haven't abandoned this fic. I apologize for my absence. Ive been very busy on writing a few one shots for Asoue and future chapters, but I promise I will not abandon anything I write, and I will try to update regularly.


	6. Reunion pt.1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where two friends reunite after so many years.

Bertrand sat comfortably on the expensive sofa that was near the roaring fireplace in R's palace. The guards were beyond hard to convince them that he was a friend of both R and her guest. It took some compromising and a confirmation from R herself in order for the Baudelaire to be allowed in. R had been so delighted when she saw the face of her friend. R had placed three fancy teacups, an extremely small metal tin that contained sugar cubes, and a porcelain teapot. With a quick thank you, R made her way up the massive staircase in order to retrieve Beatrice. It had been about half an hour and still nothing. Perhaps Beatrice didn't want to see him. Maybe she wanted nothing more to do with him. _No!_ No…it was just his ever embarrassing _damned_ nerves getting in the way.

 

‘Come now man! You’re _not_ a child anymore!’ Bertrand internally scolded himself. But…but it would make sense if she hated him. He _tried_ to write to her, countless letters, but hadn't received any reply. Had someone stolen them? Were they lost? Maybe she thought he stopped caring for her. _Oh, God_ this was a mistake. Maybe he should leave now before-

Voices from the stairway snapped him from his thoughts.

 

"Come _on_ Bea, you can't stay in there _forever_!"

 

Thedistinct voice of R rang out, echoing throughout the stairway and the grand living room. However, it was the second voice that nearly made Bertrand spill the tea he was pouring into his teacup.

 

“Very well R, what’s this surprise you keep talking about?”

 

Was…Was that _Beatrice_? She sounded so mature and so different from the Beatrice he had once knew. Perhaps it was her tone. It sounded so somber and so different than the playful one that the Baudelaire had once knew. ‘She’s like another person.’ Bertrand thought, dumbfounded.

 

“Well if I _told_ you, it wouldn’t be a surprise!”

 

A soft amused laugh came as a response.

 

“Can you give me a hint?”

 

“Well, lets just say, _Mrs. Googles_ wanted to see you.”

 

A moment of silence.

 

“R, I’m afraid I don’t have the _faintest_ idea what you’re- .”

 

Before Bertrand realized it, he was staring at her. Beatrice was staring at him. She had changed greatly. Her dark brown hair was long, much longer than what it once was. Her dark brown eyes were filled with sadness, exhaustion, and experience. She didn’t looked like the same little Beatrice Anwhistle that would play with him _so_ many years ago. And yet, it was _her_ ; his dearest, oldest friend.

 

She began to approach him slowly and carefully, almost as if he was a bomb about to go off.

 

 _“B-Bertrand_?” Her voice was a hoarse whisper, her eyes wide with surprise, her shaking hands reaching up to cover her mouth, but Bertrand knew she was smiling.

 

Bertrand gave her a small, yet sad, smile.

 

“Hello funny little girl.”

 

Without any warning, the younger adult rushed over and wrapped her arms around the Baudelaire’s neck, hugging him tightly, causing him to be pushed against the couch.

 

_“BERTRAND!”_

She was laughing. She was crying. She was laughing and crying as she clung to him. As Bertrand returned the hug greatly, he found that his own eyes were wet from tears and his cheeks were hurting from smiling so hard.

 

“I take it that you’ve missed me?”

 

Beatrice pulled away so the two were facing each other. Her eyes were red with tears still pouring and she was her smile was wide.

 

“Of _course_ I missed you! You’re  my friend, whom I haven’t seen in person for almost seven years!”

 

“I-I’ve missed you _too_ , Bea.”

 

“ _Where_ have you been? _How_ have you been? You look so _grown_ -“

 

The sound of R loudly clearing her throat, brought the two friends back from their little moment.

 

“Well,” R stated with a smile, “I’d _hate_ to interrupt this very sweet reunion, but how about we discuss about this over tea?”

 


	7. Reunion pt. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bittersweet get-together lead to a change in arrangements.

“It appears that our dear Bertrand likes the homemade cakes.”   
  
“ _Mmph_?”   
  
Bertrand stopped, his mouth full with strawberry shortcake. R and Beatrice were sitting in a loveseat across from him, and were staring at him with amused expressions. With another confused mouthful noise, Bertrand awkwardly swallowed the sweet pastry.    
  
“I’m sorry…what?”    
  
The two ladies shared a small laugh.   
  
“Bertrand, you’ve had about _four_ cakes since we’ve started our tea!” Beatrice giggled. “Not to mention you have crumbs all over your goatee!”   
  
At that, Bertrand wiped his face, his face turning slightly red in embarrassment. ‘You’re twenty-five years old, and you _still_ stuff your face like a toddler.’ he thought.    
  
“H-Have I?”   
  
They shared another laugh.    
  
“Why yes you have,” R smirked, “If you like them so much, I’ll see if the chef can lend you the recipe.”   
  
“Well…I’m not sure…” He didn’t want to be a burden.   
  
“Come now, Lawrence won’t mind, and I’m sure Tulip would like it.” R encouraged.   
  
“How is Tulip by the way?” Beatrice asked, immediately regretting the question as soon as she saw the the look of distaste on her friend’s face.   
  
“It…didn’t work out.... _at all_ ” Bertrand murmured. He’d...really rather not talk about... _her_...   
  
“How so?” Beatrice asked, surprised. “I thought you two were close.”    
  
“Did you two feel that you should just remain as friends?” R inquired.   
  


“God, I _wish_ that was the case.” Bertrand grimaced. “She became very…obsessive and well, it just didn’t work out.”   
  
At this the two ladies glanced at each other.Their eyebrows furrowed in concern. 

 

“Oh Bertrand…I’m so sorry.”   
  
“No it’s alright. I’m kind of relieved to be quite honest. She was starting to…it’s over now and that’s what is important.”   
  
“I see. Are you ever interested in dating again?”   
  
“I’m not sure…I…”   
  
There was an awkward silence that passed. It was true. Bertrand wasn’t sure if he was _ever_ ready to be with anyone romantically again. His first love, Avery left him for someone else. The botanist’s friends and associates had insisted that it was Avery’s fault not his, but despite the loving comfort, Bertrand was sure that he alone was at fault. Avery left him for a reason. Whatever it was was, Bertrand didn’t understand nor was he sure he wanted to. He went on multiple dates with multiple people, but they didn’t really feel right.    
  
He had made a connection with Tulip, a aspiring botanist he had met at a VFD gathering. With their interests in plants and it seemed that Bertrand had finally found his match. They were quite the pair, always spending time in one of the headquarters’ greenhouse, sipping hot chocolate as they read whimsical poems. They were so close, Bertrand had even moved in a small house with her. Then, everything came crashing down as it began with her accusations, her insults,  her uncalled for screaming, her rudeness to his friends, her unpleasantness towards him whenever she was in a foul mood, her violent outbursts whenever Bertrand even mentioned one of his female friends (Beatrice especially). She would even hide his tools or perhaps severely damage an invention he was working on just to spite him. 

  
The Baudelaire had finally drawn the line when she smugly approached him with a schedule she had made herself in order to keep her eye him. Bertrand was _more_ than happy to have finally left her. He just couldn’t deal with it anymore. He, regretfully, left her a note and left, heading straight to Monty for help.    
  
“Bertrand?’   
  
At this, the Baudelaire was torn away from his thoughts and looked up at his friends, who were staring at him concerned. He just couldn’t tell them how the whole ordeal made him felt.    
  
“I….I’m fine… _really_ ,” Bertrand reassured them, giving them a (unconvincing) smile. “What’s done, is done”   
  
Beatrice looked as if she wanted to walk over to him and hug him, but remained sitting. Awkward silence filled the room as the only sounds was the sound of the fire in the fireplace.  It was a few excruciating minutes until R broke the silence, standing up suddenly.   
  
“Oh, pardon me! I’ll be right back!” She exclaimed, her eyes sparkling.

 

“What’s wrong R?” 

 

“I have a phone call of _most_ importance that I need to make.”   Bertrand placed his teacup down, as he began to get up from the luxurious chair. But before he could announce his leaving, R waved her hands, gesturing him to keep sitting.

 

“No no! You two keep talking!” She called out as she left the room. “It won’t be long!”

 

The echoing sounds of her heels hitting the tiled floor grew from loud, to distant, to silent.Soon, the Baudelaire and Anwhistle were alone. Small smiles, shared and understood.  
Bertrand knew for a fact that it was his nerves getting in the way from him speaking. They were clogging up his throat, keeping him from saying the words he wanted to say. For Beatrice's case? The twenty-five year old just didn’t know. Was she also as nervous as him? Was she just a lost on what to say?    
  
Suddenly, the words began flowing out before he could stop them.  
  
“I’m so sorry about Lemony.”  
  
Beatrice’s smile faded, as she closed her eyes, and Bertrand cursed himself.  
  
“Oh Beatrice, I’m _so_ sorry…I shouldn’t…“  
  
Of _course_ he’d mention the loss of her fiancé, the source of her pain, and ruin everything. What kind of a moron was he? Allowing her to have some joy, but then snatch it away like the idiotic ass he was.   
  
“It’s alright Bertrand.” She said quietly.  
  
“Would you like to talk about it?”  
  
Beatrice stirred her tea, her dark brown eyes shone with sadness.  
  
“It’s just so… _surreal_ to me.” She whispered. “Like a bad dream…”  
  
“I know just how you-“  
  
“I keep imagining him to be here…or that he would come back to me…it’s _not fair_.” Her voice was rising and Bertrand could tell she was getting more and more upset. It was understandable. 

  
“Bea-“   
  


“Do you know what our last words to each other were?”

 

“No, _but_ -”

 

“ _It was a goddamn argument_!” The tears were pouring from Beatrice’s eyes as she began to shake.

 

“ _A pointless, petty, foolish argument! It’s my fault he’s-_ ” At this, Bertrand had heard _enough_.

 

“ _Beatrice!_ ” 

 

Bertrand rushed across to her and grabbed her shoulders. Beatrice jumped clearly startled, and she stared down at the ground, still shaking, tears still falling. It pained Bertrand to see his friend so broken especially since she was one of the most strongest and capable volunteer he had ever met. Sure, she would need solace, she was human after all, but it was mostly her who would give her loved ones a shoulder to cry on. After the two had committed the murder at the opera, Bertrand was almost in complete pieces. He wouldn’t leave his room, wouldn’t eat properly, wouldn’t sleep. When he did sleep, he would wake up screaming in the night. However, Beatrice had always visited, comforted him, and assured him that he was still a good and noble person. ‘One of the very best.’ she had told him. Without her, he was sure he would have died in despair. Now here they are, many many years later, and Bertrand Baudelaire would do the same for her. Carefully, he used his fingers to lift her chin so she was looking at him.

 

“Listen to me, Beatrice, “ He said softly as he wiped the tears off his friend’s face. “You are _not_ at fault as to what happened. Whatever happened at Lemony’s mission was _not_ , _nor will it ever will be your fault_.”

 

“H-h-how is it n-not-”

 

“It _isn’t_.”

 

“I-I…”

 

Beatrice sniffed, wiping more tears from her eyes, and Bertrand couldn’t take it anymore. He pulled her into a loving hug. She was stiff at first, not quite taking in what had happened but soon melted into the embrace. She was still crying, but not as much.

 

“T-thank you.” She whispered into his ear, wrapping her arms around him. Bertrand grinned slightly and gently rubbed her back as she buried her face into his shoulder.

 

“But of _course_ Beatrice.”

 

The two just stayed there, still in each others’ arms. The silence this time around, was comforting and peaceful. It felt as if there was a moment for them to breathe and take in each others’ company.  

 

“ _My, my, my_! I leave you two alone for a few moments, and you’re already getting all snuggly!” 

 

At this, Bertrand and Beatrice hurridley pulled away to find R standing next to the loveseat, with a smirk on her mouth, her eyes sparkling with a knowing light.

 

“ _R, it wasn’t what it looked like_!”

 

R laughed, and waved her hand dismissively.

 

“Oh come on, I’m only teasing you two!”

 

Bertrand chuckled nervously and ran his fingers through his hair. He was blushing as he was utterly embarrassed. He had been used to this sort of teasing, but R’s statement left him feeling a bit uncomfortable.

 

“Come now R,” Bertrand mumbled. “That was _really_ uncalled for.”

 

Beatrice said nothing, a tight smile on her face, fixing her hair, glaring daggers at R. If looks could kill, Winnipeg’s duchess, would be dead.

 

“I said I was joking! Come now, I’ve brought a _excellent_ proposal.” 

 

At this, she looked at Bertrand with a clever smile on her face that made the Baudelaire a tad unnerved. He was not sure if liked that smile. Her smile wasn’t threatening or had malice, it was just that R was known for making the most outlandish decisions as both a duchess and a volunteer. Even though she would assure it was safe, her decisions would sometimes have... _painful results_.

 

“W-what do you have in mind?”

 

“Well first of all, _relax_ Bert, I’m not going to _bite_ you.” She said. Her voice had taken on a more serious tone, which assured Bertrand that whatever proposal R had in mind wouldn’t have him sent to the hospital. “Second, you are currently staying at a hotel right?”

 

“Y-yes? What about-?”

 

“You could stay here! After all, there is plenty of room and we girls enjoy your company.” 

 

Bertrand swallowed. He looked at Beatrice who was staring at R with wide eyes. She looked absolutely stunned. Bertrand took a moment to collect his thoughts.

 

“That...that’s not really necessary...I can always take a taxi over-”

 

“Oh _Pish_!” R interrupted, waving a hand, “I’m afraid it’s too late, I _just_ called the hotel and they’re on their way to drop off your belongings.”

 

“....You’re too kind R.”

  
  


~~~~~~~   
  


“Your...Grace? M-master Baudelaire’s...th-th-things have arrived!” announced the butler, clearly struggling with the weight of a enormous suitcase in his two gloved hands.

 

“Oh thank you, Alfred!”

 

_ Thank God. _

 

Bertrand could feel all the tension leave his body. He was tired of waiting and the day’s, though bittersweet, events had drained him just a bit. The last fifty minutes he spent waiting for his bag, were torture. It was just him sitting on the stairs in silence, Beatrice and R standing awkwardly near a doorway, trying to make conversation, but the surprise from the latter’s announcement still hanging. Not that he _minded_ the ladies’ presence nor did he mind the thought of staying there in the enormous palace that was R’s home (he _really_ didn’t), but he couldn’t stand the discomfort in the silence. 

 

In an attempt to leave the awkwardness, Bertrand made a reach for the large suitcase that were in the butler’s shaking hands. 

 

“Oh dear don’t worry, Alfred can get that to your upstairs room. It’s his job.” R said dismissively. (At this Bertrand could hear the butler’s quiet groan.)

 

“M-m-my d-duchess is...quite...r-right Master B-b-baudelaire.”

 

Bertrand shook his head and took his things out of Alfred’s slipping fingers. The butler let out a breath of relief and gave Bertrand a grateful nod, leaving the entranceway panting. 

 

“It’s fine R.” He said, "I can manage, _really_.”

 

Beatrice, who had be silent the entire time, ran her fingers through her dark brown hair, the look on her face was unrecognisable. She looked as if she was contemplating  on whether or not she should say or perhaps do something. As if she had made her mind, she stepped hesitantly forward.

 

“If you want, I can-”

 

“I’ll help you to your room Bertrand!” R interrupted, rushing over and took a handle on the suitcase. “Besides, I want to ask you about the Orange Lilies I have in the greenhouse.”

 

The duchess then began to half lead, half drag Bertrand up the grand and long staircase. 

 

“Oh..ok…see you around Bea,” Bertrand mumbled as he waved to a stunned Beatrice. 

 

“Oh yes!” R called out, “Beatrice darling remember, dinner is in a hour! Will I be seeing you?”

 

“Oh...oh sure, I’ll be there. Will you be joining us Bertrand?” Beatrice asked.  Bertrand, who was halfway on the stairs with R, paused and thought about it.  ‘Sure, why _not_?’ Bertrand thought with a shrug, ‘What’s the _harm_ in eating dinner?’ 

 

“Of _course_!” He said with confidence. “Wouldn’t miss it for the _world_!” 

 

Beatrice’s face lit up as she gave a quick nod and rushed up the stairs to her room. Bertrand and R exchanged smiles, and continued to slowly make their way up the stairs. 

 

“So R, what was it you needed to know about the Orange Lilies?”

 

R’s mischievous smile faded as she took on a more serious expression. She had slowed to a snail’s pace, and leaned in. 

 

“Thank you for coming.” She whispered, completely ignoring his question. “Granted I’m making you stay here longer than what you had possibly planned, but thank you regardless.”

 

“Of course-.”

 

_“What made you want to come visit? I want an honest answer Baudelaire.”_ R hissed. The duchess’s voice had taken a colder tone as her eyes narrowed into a suspicious glare up at his direction. Bertrand felt a chill go up his spine. He had only seen R look this serious in VFD meetings and at other associates that have crossed her. Never in a million years did he believe that he would be on the receiving end of her death stare. With what little courage he had left, he swallowed and looked down at her with a straight face. He then told her,

 

“I...I wanted to see if Beatrice was alright after Lemony’s death. I was concerned for her mental and emotional health. I haven’t seen her in a long time and I miss her.” He then added “I have _no_ romantic intent or interest, I swear on my life Ramona.” 

 

He was being honest. After a moment of studying him, R’s face eased into a more calmer look as she let out a sigh. She looked a bit relieved and continued to drag up the stairs with Bertrand and his suitcase. After a moment of silence, she responded.

 

“I believe you.” She mumbled, “I-I know it’s wrong to even think you would try to do anything funny,  but I just wanted to make sure you weren’t taking _advantage_ of her. Considering that her fiancè _is_...”  at this, her voice trailed off. 

 

“Why? Have there been people doing that?” Bertrand inquired. He could feel himself grow a tad angry. So Beatrice was receiving visitors, but they apparently thought that now that Lemony was out of the picture, they could have a chance with being with her. ‘Did they even think about _her_?’ Bertrand pondered, ‘Were they only thinking of _themselves_?’ 

 

“People who we both thought were her friends. Just last week, I had my guards roughly kick out a certain magician,” R hissed. “The ass kept insisting on taking Beatrice out to dinner and such in order to ‘help her move forward from this experience. After all, it’s what Lemony would’ve wanted... _blah, blah, blah!_ ’ Oh that is such _bull_! The worst part of it was that Bea kept telling him no, and that she would rather stay as friends.”

“ _Potter_? _Really_?” Bertrand was shocked. He had assumed Harold er-, H had more respect than that. But then again this was the same man who kept moaning and groaning for years that ‘Lemony didn’t deserve her,’  when he found out of their relationship “That is _low_ , even for a womanizer like him.” He muttered.

 

R only nodded and let out a breath of relief as they finally made it up the stairs. With a gentle tug on his suitcase she led him down the hall. The Baudelaire was so caught up with his thoughts, that he didn’t even realize that R was still talking to him. 

 

“...can stay as long as you like. Quick reminder, don’t feel shy to help yourself, the palace is your’s to roam around and you can help yourself to my libraries, study rooms, kitchen, and especially my greenhouse and toolshed, considering both strongly meet your interests.”

 

“Alright that sounds good.” He said absentmindedly, realizing that they made it to his room. Before he could turn the the doorknob, R placed a hand on his arm. 

 

“Thank you Bert….really _thank you_.”

 

Bertrand blinked.

 

“For what?”

 

“For being here. I know you came just to check up on her, but I was really starting to get worried about Beatrice and….” R then looked as if she was trying to find right words on what to say. “And I think you being there for her as her friend is _helping_ her.”

 

“What makes you think _that_?”  

 

“Well she came out of her room for let’s see...two and a half hours! That’s the longest she’s ever been out and even then that’s a rare occurrence. She’s agreed to eat dinner, which is brought up to her and then again, I don’t know if she’s even eating it. Finally she’s….” her voice trailed off. 

 

“She’s what?” Bertrand asked curiously. R gave him a sad smile and the man could tell she had tears forming in her eyes. 

 

“She’s _happy_. You make her _happy_.” Her voice was quivering slightly. R reached into her pocket, pulled out a small handkerchief, and dabbed her eyes. “It’s even more than I can ever do these days.”

 

Bertrand could only stare at her, completely stunned. He wanted to speak, but he just couldn’t find the words.

 

“Well then, I must be leaving you.” R said when her friend did not respond. “I’ll let you settle in. See you at dinner!”

 

“Y-yes dinner.”

 

The duchess then turned and walked down the hall, turning the corner, and leaving Bertrand (who quickly entered his room), to take in the entirety of the day’s events. He laid down on the bed and figured he’ll just rest, then sharpen up for dinner. His head was spinning rapidly as if he had just gotten off a amusement park ride. He was amazed that him just being there had made his depressed friend perk up, though just a little bit. ‘I didn’t realize that I meant that much to her.’ Bertrand thought as he unpacked a nice suit from the bundles of clothes, books, tools, and metal pieces in his suitcase. 

He then headed to the shower in order to clear his mind for dinner. Despite his efforts, R’s words echoed in his head. Even when he got dressed and stepped out to go meet his friends in the dining room, he just... _couldn't_ let R's words go. 

 

_ ‘You make her happy.’ _

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! It's been a while.
> 
> Sorry for putting this story on a mini hiatus (I won't give up on this story), but thankfully it's over now. Here’s a longer chapter to make up for it. I'm gonna see if I can find a posting schedule, so you all don't have to wait long. 
> 
> If you have any questions or comments about the story or updates you can do so here or contact me on my  
> tumblr: knight-of-vfd.tumblr.com 
> 
> And I'll get to them as soon as I can.


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